


Never Too Little

by Deannie



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-28
Updated: 2004-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash didn't feel the blast that hit him, not right away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Too Little

"Look out!"  


Zoe's shouted warning came too little, too late--and wasn't that always the way?  


Wash didn't feel the blast that hit him, not right away. No, first, he was flung back hard and the cliff that had been at his back suddenly seemed like an awfully long drop as he teetered on the edge. _Then_ , he felt the pain, ripping through his stomach and stealing his breath, pitching him over the side and into the water that was much too far away.  


It took a long time to fall. A lot longer than it should have, if he'd had time to think about it objectively. But all he had time for was the fight to get air back into his lungs. He panted frantically against the pain--right up until he hit the surface of the lake with a resounding crack that took away what little control he still had in him.  


Fresh water, of course. He sank like a stone, wondering when he was going to start feeling the water enter his lungs. Of course, he had to remaster breathing again for that to happen, and his body wasn't being what one would call cooperative.  


He kept his eyes closed--in truth, he probably couldn't have opened them had he wanted to. Instead, that mind that could figure out a course through enemy space in a fraction of a second cataloged the new sensations that would be his last.  


He'd never drowned before, after all. His brain thought it was interesting, even if his body wasn't much for the idea. It seemed stuck on the routine of breathing, and he tried to tell himself that the spasms that shut off his airway were a good thing. It was _right_ not to breathe.  


One long shudder from his toes to his head, and he felt the world closing in on him. He could taste the water, but it just rolled around his mouth and out again. His lungs wanted no part of it after all. He could feel his chest squeeze in on itself, which only served to bring to mind the shotgun blast that had landed him here in the first place.  


Zoe. She'd get him out of this. Wouldn't she? Hell yes, she would. He trusted her with his life. His life and his soul and--his body shook itself again, trying one more time to breathe. His closed eyelids sprouted spots of red and green, and his arms and legs became distant memories...  


Memories... The day he'd met her. The day they'd married... The spots began to fade, as did the pain in his gut, and he realized--for the first time, really--that this was it.  


Hell of a way to die.  


One last try, and his body managed what it had been threatening since he hit the lake. And of course, it botched the job. Water sloshed into him, and he felt his lungs burn, and he was coughing and choking and suddenly--so suddenly he almost laughed--he was nowhere. Floating. Dying.  


Hell of a way...  


   


"Wash?"  


Zoe?  


"Honey, come on." Zoe hurting. Crying. He knew what she sounded like when she cried--might've been the only one around who did. A husband thing. One of many he'd miss now. "Wash, wake up."  


"We'll get him to Serenity." There was Mal. Captain to the core. He had that calm take-charge to his voice that meant that everything would be as all right as it could be. After a time. "The doctor will fix him up."  


Wash wondered... was there anything to fix? He'd floated. That was it, wasn't it? No fixing death, no matter how you tried. But Zoe was crying. She was crying and he couldn't have that. With an effort that nearly killed him all over again, he opened his eyes.  


"Wash?" Mal. Sounding worried now. Calm, but worried, and all Wash could see was the sky above him. "How you doing?"  


No answer to that. He couldn't speak, at any rate. His throat was thick and trapped in muck and even breathing--which, he realized dully, he was actually doing now (too little, too late again)--felt like a chore beyond him.  


A sigh to his right, and he looked over, felt a hand at his temple, and Zoe's eyes, so soft and deep and wet with tears...  


He tried. He tried to answer what she didn't ask. He tried to say those three words he'd meant from the very beginning. He loved her. And he thought, as the world began to close in again--this time more comforting, less painful--that maybe it was her love in return that brought him back. She was never too little. Never too late. He trusted her with his life, after all.  


And Zoe never was one to disappoint.  


* * *  
The End


End file.
